Can we go for a walk, now?

We spent the weekend in San Diego, doing book-signings at the First Annual Widowhood Convention. The weather was glorious and the hotel -- the Marriot San Diego Hotel and Marina -- was simply fabulous. I usually can't afford to stay at hotels like this, but they were having a half-price special, so we ended up on the ninth floor in a room that overlooked the entire city. Luxury, plus. I've decided that I would definitely enjoy being rich.

Bao wants to be rich, too. Our first lunchtime walk along the waterfront past the yachts and the shops and the restaurants was enough to convince him that it's the other half who really know how to live. He pranced and preened and shot supercilious glances at the other immaculately groomed dogs as if he was visiting royalty. And when it was time for us to go in and get back to work, he sat down and wouldn't budge.

We're not here to mix with high society, I told him. We're here to sell Sea Changes.

Bao remained unconvinced. In the end, I had to pick him up and carry him back inside, while he closed his eyes and pretended it wasn't happening.

But I had to agree with him, being out on the marina was much more fun than hanging out in the Convention Bookstore.

So, can we go for a walk, now?